I Feel It's One Of My Contributing Factors
by GracingOctober
Summary: Stupid plane ticket.  Stupid plane. Stupid Atlantic Ocean. And worst of all, STUPID LIGHTHOUSE. Why did it have to be ME who had to live? Same plot as B1, just different twists. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_**Okay, so new story! I beat Bioshock (Both of them! Go me!) and I absolutely fell in love with the story line, so I'm kind of copying the plot. :) But the game and original plot is NOT mine, it belongs to the peeps who made Bioshock (1 and 2). :) I hope you enjoy this and depending on reviews (I NEED THEM) this may evolve into sort-of a Romantic/Violent story. :) PLEASE ENJOY!! :)**_

_**~RosesfromDemyx/Sydney**_

_**And for those of you that might be confused:**_

_Thoughts or Notes_

_Something that may be important_

___**P.S. The character's name is Sydney, simply because I'm not that creative so I'm using my name. :) Or you can imagine it's your name, your call. :)**_

* * *

_Chapter 1_

_The Crash_

It all started with that flight across the Atlantic Ocean.

I thought our pilot was drunk for wanting to fly in this weather. It was very cloudy, with a high chance of a storm, but he did it anyway.

So here I am, with my gift from my 18 month older brother, Zachary, in my right hand my Mountain Dew in my left hand. My wrists were sparsely decorated with tattoos. My left had two chain links on it across the veins while my right had three links, proving it's the favored hand. I reread (Probably for the thousandth time since I got on the damn 9 hour flight) the note that my 18 year old brother hastily scrabbled onto a piece of yellowing lineless paper.

_PLEASE don't open this gift UNTIL you get to your destination._

_I promise you'll love it. _

_I hope you have an excellent flight and a good nap._

_I love you, sis. _

_Zachary A. Woodson_

The only reason I kept rereading the sheet that was taped to the front of a red and blue papered package was because rarely ever did my brother tell me (Or even write for that matter) that he loved me. I always thought that I was too annoying with my smartass remarks and high hostility towards his "friends".

Row 9. Probably the luckiest row EVER. Why? Because I was the only one sitting in it. I loved the view of the ocean, yes, but after the first couple of hours you kind of get tired of it, so you go people watching. Which is what I'm doing. Not as fun as you think it'd be. Mostly, people were passing the time by sleeping. Too bad I had a mountain dew being possessively held in my left hand, where my wrist was rolling in circles, causing the green liquid to roll in the thin aluminum can.

A flight attendant rolled a cart by, asking if I wanted anything. "No thank you." I said gently, just like she did. She smiled and kept rolling on by. I stared aimlessly ahead.

Why is it that whenever I zone out, something bad just HAS to happen?

The plane gave out a gigantic and low groan and shuddered. Everyone asleep immediately woke up to being convulsed in their seats. My drink flew out of my hand and into the aisle where many people lay, shaken. Buckle up, buttercup. It's going to be one hell of a bumpy ass ride.

Turns out, none of us had the time to get all the life gear put on. We fell into what must've looked like a spectacular nose dive into the freezing February ocean.

Black. And Cold. What's more to bitch about besides not having my present in my hand? _FUCK!!_ _My present fell into the water with me! Zach's gonna kill me if I survive this and don't have the present. _I quickly swam up (I have no idea where in the hell I found the strength to) and found myself face to face with the missing gift. I snatched it from in front of me and looked around to see if anyone else was on the surface. Not yet. _YET_.

Instead, I saw a conveniently placed light house with a stone staircase leading to the door. And unlike other light houses, this one wasn't painted. _Bummer. No pretty colors on the scary light house._I forced my limbs to swim, even the one with my brother's gift.

After what felt like forever and a day (_No, WEEK)_I finally got to the cold rock steps. I CRAWLED onto the stone slab and just laid there. Realizing I might just get more air if I lay on my back, I flipped (Or at least attempted to) onto my back. It took me three tries before I finally got it.

My purple long sleeve shirt was sticking to me like a second skin, just as my dark jeans were. My phone? Totally lost. My iPod? OH MY GOD, THANK THE LORD ALMIGHTY. I still had it, along with my ear buds. My black, white, and red plaid shoes weighed about five pounds more than I remembered. My mid-back length, dark brown hair successfully kept my head down with its extra weight added as well. My choppy bangs covered my eyes, just like I styled them to.

I have no idea how long I just laid there, looking up at the sky in between the thin hairs that were my bangs and gasping for breath while still clutching with an iron grip onto my gift.

It must've been an hour or two before I finally convinced myself that maybe the light house has a phone I can borrow, to tell my brother that I'm alright and that I still had the present. If it didn't….well….I don't know what I'd do. Go crazy, maybe? I'm pretty sure I'd like that.

I walked (More as stomped my way) up the flights of stone, and I'm almost positive that I look like a drowned rat. My head hanging low, just staring at the ground like I normally do when I climb steps, my pale hands both clinging onto the treasured package, and my clothes clinging to me for their dear lives.

Another forever and a day passed before I finally got to the top of the stair case, which coincidentally enough, looked over the entire crash site.

I realized then that I was the only survivor.

_Fuck my life._


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so I know it's been a while since I last put a chapter up for this story (scratch that, ALL of my stories), so I'm going to try to make it up to you guys reading (if anyone is. No one seems to like to comment on any of my stories…)**

**Also, I want to apologize for any weird grammar mistakes, considering the fact I'm only typing with one hand since the other is in a cast (I broke my pinky finger pretty bad, so they put my pinky, ring, and middle finger all in the inside part of the cast.).**

**Bioshock does not belong to me, it belongs to the creators of Bioshock.**

**P.S. Is it considered pathetic if I have to look up Bioshock gameplay on YouTube since it's been a little while since I last played and I can't play now?**

**Okay, to the story now. Enjoy my one-handed typing! :)**

* * *

_Fuck my life._

That's what my first thought was when I overlooked the area of the plane wreck. I took a deep sigh. _Sulking and pouting about this isn't going to help solve this. Better go inside before I catch hypothermia. That would be bad._

I twisted on my water-logged heel and turned to the extra tall wooden double doors. Creepy enough, the left door was open. Enough for me to walk through without opening the door any further than it is.

_To go in or not to go in? that is the question._

Well, actually, the better question would be whether or not to wait out here and wait for everyone's own version of Casper the friendly ghost and greet me, saying they'll guide me every step of the way towards happiness in life…or…

To go inside the creepy warehouse where some abandoned druggy may be waiting for the next crack head that was supposed to meet him here with his suitcases full of some Mary Jane and syringes to mainline liquid stupidity.

Yeah, I think the druggy is the one more likely to actually be real. I mean, who knows? It could be one of those nice druggies that lets me try my first joint free and sell the rest half-off.

That'd be nice.

Or…it could be a hermit who just needs some cats to keep him company every once in a while, but instead has baby sharks trapped in tanks and he's teaching them how to be vegetarian sharks so he can swim with them some day or another.

I walked inside.

Really. Fucking. Dark. The only light was that of the moon streaming in from the doorway I just passed.

And guess what? Shit just gets better. Like every horror movie, when you walk into the dark house/building, the door shuts behind you, scaring the absolute fuck out of anyone (except steroid using jocks). Then the lights all of a sudden just flick on, burning your eyes as if you were up close to the sun and having a staring contest with it.

But guess what? The sun wins. Always. Unless you're Chuck Norris.

The lights were on now and after about a minute of rubbing my eyes and another five for trying to readjust my contact lenses since I moved them rubbing my eyes, I took a look around.

There was a giant bust of a man, leaning out toward the doors like those mermaid carvings on pirate ships. Across his "chest" was a giant royal red banner in gold lining and letters, reading "_No gods or kings. Only man._" Below the banner was an empty pit. There was a little stand, with a plaque on it, like the kind you'd find at a zoo, describing the animal in the cage in front of you.

This one read "_In what country is there a place for people like me? – Andrew Ryan"_

By the sounds of it…umm…nowhere? Maybe?

I walked around the pit, my soaked shoes squelching with every step on the concrete floor. There was a double way corridor, so that if you either went to the left or the right of the circular pit, there would be an archway to the same way. That way was a small flight of steps, making me turn at an angle and go down another small flight. Which is what I did.

And what I came upon was something weird. It looked like a giant metal ball, except that it had an archway that led to a cozy room, which, situated at the back, but in the middle, was a big lever. Something in my head told me to go inside and pull it.

So, with my present from my brother, my iPod, the clothes on my back, and the little courage I had left in me from this creepy ass place most other people would call a light house, I did it.

I pulled the switch.


	3. Smart Mouth

**Okay, so I know I've been abusing you and haven't been updating on this story…but I went brain-dead on my stories. I've actually been thinking about my Longest Yard story. Maybe re-write it.**

**Also, my fingers are going DERP, so I may have a couple of spelling mistakes or grammatical errors.**

…**Sorry for taking your time!**

**Bioshock does not belong to me, it belongs to its rightful owners.**

**And thank you Microsoft Word for being smart and catching me. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Smart Mouth_

_I pulled the switch._

The sub-marine ball thing gave a lurch which sent me to the floor, sending the gift from my hand to the floor to my left and my iPod stabbed into my thigh from the inside of my right front pocket of my jeans.

It took me a minute before I realized that we were MOVING. The door had apparently shut on its own and the metal ball of doom descended into what looked like a tunnel that went vertical. I turned around to look through the way I came in and saw a light blue wall with a darker blue stripe going through the middle. What came next…surprised me.

A sign was placed on the dark blue strip. It read, "18 fathoms" right before a yellowed screen popped up, kinda like those things you pull down from the ceiling in your class room before you turn on the overhead to go over something.

A silhouette of what appeared to be the lighthouse flashed onto the screen without warning. Where was the projector?

Then what appeared to be an advertisement appeared. This one had a man on the left of the picture and a woman on the right, The woman smiling while holding a cigarette while the man looked to have fire spread along the length of his index finger, lighting the woman's cancer stick.

"Fire at your fingertips!" the words read at the top. "Incinerate was underlined in retro letters near the bottom, with words that read in thinner print "Plasmids by Ryan Industries".

What the hell is a plasmid?

Something along the lines of cheap elevator music was on. I hadn't noticed it when the advertisement first appeared. It stayed on for about a minute before the picture had suddenly changed to a man sitting in a chair with his own cancer stick handled carefully between his index finger and middle finger.

Before I could read the words beside the picture of the man, a voice came on, scaring the shit out of me.

"I am Andrew Ryan, and I'm here to ask you a question." Go ahead. Got nothing else better to do now.

"Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?" Depends. Who's he working for?

"'No' says the man in Washington. 'It belongs to the poor.'" Well…No comment.

"'No' says the man in the Vatican. 'It belongs to God.'" God's a greedy bastard then, isn't he? (**AN! I have NOTHING against God. This is just meant as a joke. No hate mail or flames plzkthks.**)

"'No' says the man in Moscow. 'It belongs to everyone.'" Well too bad I've never really been one to share.

"I rejected those answers." I would too if someone told me that.

"Instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible." Hmm…My motto's always been that nothing's impossible. It just hasn't been done yet. YET.

"I chose…" At this the picture turned off and the screen went down, to reveal something beautiful and marvelous. We were under water!

A city came into view right as Andrew spoke again.

"Rapture…" By definition, Rapture is a state of being carried away by overwhelming emotion.

We continued on, it was as if the ball had known where to go, and in which order, as if it knew where all the glorious building were and was steering on its own.

He continued. "A city where the artist would not fear the censor, where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality, where the great would not be constrained by the small."

We were still cruising by the huge, bright buildings while he was giving his personal speech.

"And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city, as well."

And with this, he ceased talking.


End file.
